company
by WhisperedSilvers
Summary: These feelings, they haunt him. —Kakashi/Sakura


**title: **Company

**by: **WhisperedSilvers

**prompt:** "Confrontation isn't anything new."

**summary:** These feelings, they haunt him. —Kakashi/Sakura

* * *

In hindsight, Sakura could have been a bit gentler.

Just a tad.

The mission, was relatively simple. Infiltrate the drug ring, take out the syndicate, and burn the building to the ground. Get in. Get out. It was a clean mission. Kakashi and Naruto were mostly surveillance, while Sakura wasn't exactly the ideal candidate to put undercover – her physical appearance could be altered, but her personality couldn't – she was one of the best stealth operatives that Konoha had, and her profession was most desirable.

Sakura remained Jounin for the sole purpose of running the hospital. Her hospital. It was her child. Her everything. ANBU missions would put her into the field and while she didn't _mind_ going into the field, there was still a terrible amount of patients that were affected by the war and—there was just so many _things _she had to do.

The problem started after the mission ended.

Trudging back home when they were ambushed by bounty hunters looking for easy money. The rogue shinobi had a ridiculous amount of chakra, spewing elemental ninjutsu, one right after the other—one jutsu in particular, had a second compartment. A fine white mist – not much similar to the hidden mist jutsu – covered the field, layered with two different types of genjutsu and threaded with senbon.

Sakura saw it — the genjutsu sign and she shoved Kakashi out of the way while Naruto rasengan'd them into oblivion.

She shoved Kakashi into two trees and winced as she watched him tumble head-first into a muddy marsh.

And Naruto still had the energy to laugh until his stomach began to cramp.

.

.

.

Kakashi glares at her, it sends her into a cold sweat and it's a magnificent feat considering his state of health. Chakra crackling with electricity as he sat on the hospital bed, his hair unruly, lopsided, mask right over his nose and his two coal orbs narrow dangerously.

He has two broken arms, three fractured ribs, and a sprained ankle.

She chuckled sheepishly, nervously, "I did tell you to get out of the way."

"…while you shoved me into two trees and into a _fucking_ swamp," he spits and his jaw twitches beneath his mask.

Sakura winces at the profanity.

Not only is it rare that he does swear, but it's even rarer for him to take that tone with her.

"Look," she breathes quickly, shuddering through her ribs because after she knocked him into the foliage, she threw him on her back and doubled back to Konoha, "I didn't realize how hard I pushed you, okay—but I saw the senbon and the kunai in the genjutsu and well—" she stumbled over her words, uncharacteristically, because what the _fuck_, Kakashi is _mad _at her, she sighed, "I did what I had to do, okay. I'm sorry."

After she stabilized his ribs and set his arms, she collapsed from exhaustion, thankfully not chakra related, but still, it was enough to keep nosy nurses away from the two of them. Naruto was updating Tsunade when she began the healing process, she could only assume that he was sleeping at home.

But the problem is, since she had healed Kakashi and crumpled into a pile of limbs on one of the chairs in the corner of the room—Kakashi is still soaked in swamp muck and caked with dirt.

Kakashi is known in the hospital for being one of the most difficult patients, but not just difficult, but private and because of his veteran-like status – as Tsunade put it – there is very few people allowed to touch him.

Kakashi's glare softens at her remorseful state and dark under-eyes, but he is sitting in marsh gunk, "I was _fine._"

Sakura's eyebrow twitches, "You don't know that. You don't know what could've happened, so shut up and be _grateful_," she snaps her book shut, "I'm going to get a nurse to get you, er, cleaned up."

He blanches at that and shakes his head, "No."

She stares at him in disbelief, "No?"

"I'll do it myself."

"Your arms are broken, Kakashi," Sakura points out.

His lips thin underneath his mask.

She doesn't budge.

He gives her a _look _and well, it's not the nicest conclusion.

Emerald eyes blink, she's not sure what washes over her first, incredulity or surprise, and she mutters, "You have _got _to be kidding me."

Kakashi smiles at her discomfort, his eyes crinkle, and his voice is mellow a complete contrast to the last ten minutes of their conversation, "I might actually forgive you."

Sakura is swearing left and right, but the thing is, she isn't saying _no._

.

.

.

Part of the reason Sakura didn't object is because, she is guilty and she feels horrible for causing her teammate such _pain. _His broken arms and fractured ribs—there all her's. Placating Kakashi might be the only way to make her, selfishly, feel better. She knows, deep in the back of her mind, that Kakashi is going to make her life – this bath really – hell.

She'll glare and rant and rave, but she'll do whatever without question.

She hates how soft she is.

Sakura makes sure the bath is steaming hot, hot enough for the dirt to fall off the skin, hot enough to sterilize, hot enough to soothe the aches and pains of possibly, his torn muscles. She pours a cup full of soap and a good handful of rose-scented iodine salt into the water. Giving it a good stir, she stands up and wipes her hand with a towel.

"Right, okay," she says to herself and turns to look at Kakashi who is leaning on his good ankle against the door of the bathroom—well, her personal bathroom in the hospital. It took her a long time to admit that she _does _have a personal bathroom for those long nights and shifts in her office.

Kakashi was not skimping on anything, she thought with exasperation.

Now she's going to have swamp guts in her bathroom.

"Did you put enough Sakura petals?" he asks cheerfully, a little too cheerful for someone in his condition.

She glares at him and tosses a handful of flowers from a glass jar on her vanity, "Satisfied?"

Kakashi hums with approval.

Her fingers are twitching, she walks slowly over to him and remembers almost exasperated — no arms, no function — she unzips his Jounin jacket, and tosses it into the sink. She wants to minimize the damage—the dirt in her bathroom. She takes a kunai and rips off his shirt.

"I'm not very comfortable with your ogling, Sakura," Kakashi chimes in, "Or the striptease."

Sakura pinches his stomach.

He winces.

"_What _was that?"

"Nothing, dear flower," he responds casually as if his side isn't throbbing from her small abuse.

She rolls her eyes and hooks her thumbs underneath his trousers. She thinks that it's a strange action. Sometimes, it's all about context. There are things, small inconsequential things that her brain believes to be important, here, it shouldn't be _that _important, because Sakura is, and will probably always be a doctor. But it is the context, that makes her stomach squeeze and tingle like feathers.

_Boundaries_boundaries—boundaries.

She needs them because this is Kakashi and it feels _different. _

It feels really different because she drops to her knees to remove his pants from his ankle—injured one first and then the other. The top of her head brushes his navel and she counts the splatters of mud on his toes before bouncing back up.

"This," Sakura says while touching the crimped rim of his boxers, she pulls the elastic until it snaps back against his waist, "Stays on."

Boundaries_boundaries_—boundaries.

"You just gotta take the fun out of everything, hm?" Kakashi makes a sound of disappointment, but she's not obliviousness enough to ignore the roughness in his tenor.

Sakura doesn't respond, she lifts him up around the waist and places him in the tub. She tries not to chuckle at the unmanly yelp he releases when she doesn't give him enough time to adjust to the water temperature. The water scalds him – scalds him in the most delicious way possible and he purrs, sinking into the water until his chin touches the surface.

Sakura chuckles this time, "You look like a wet dog."

Kakashi would be wagging his tail if he had one.

"This almost makes up for the bodily harm you caused," he chirps.

She glares, picking up a small container, she scoops some water in and pours it unceremoniously over his head.

Kakashi sputters at the suddenness and then he says something that makes her breath stop.

"Take off my mask."

Sakura gapes, "What—I _know_ I didn't give you that many drugs."

"I have soap in my mouth," he sounds puckered, like he sucked on a sour lemon, "Also, how am I supposed to eat without removing my mask?"

There are small things, inconsequential things that she doesn't bother taking note of, logically, it makes sense, but the reality of it is—it's just not plausible. Maybe, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that this was something he would have to come to terms with, but she never thought it would be her—that would have to do it.

She's waited years for this—her fingers shake as she grabs the top of his mask – and because it's _years _she's waited for this moment – she yanks it down, patience be damned.

"Oh," she says her voice is composed, but her insides are shaking, "That was anticlimactic."

Kakashi has the _nerve _to look offended, "This has been the best-kept secret of my life and you say it's _anticlimactic_?"

Kakashi is beautiful, there is no doubt about it. He has high cheekbones, a straight nose – she wonders how on earth is that possible because he's broken it so _many _times—! – full, but thin lips and a hard jaw. The scar over his eye touches the top of his cheek, clean straight teeth, and a suntan.

"You look normal," Sakura shrugs, but she's doing her best not to internally scream, "We all thought you had like, a mole or buck teeth, or," she makes a strange hand gesture, "Or _something_."

"You are so _not _my favorite student."

If Sakura wasn't tired she would've taken offense to that question – because there is so _much _she could say – but instead, she cocks an eyebrow and says, "I'm giving you a bath and you're telling me I'm not your favorite student? I can call Naruto if you want?"

Kakashi makes a sound of horror.

"That's what I thought," Sakura nods her head, she pours another cup of water over his head, "Now close your eyes."

She takes her strawberry shampoo – his summons are going to have a field day with this – and scrubs his droopy looking locks. She shampoos and conditions his hair until it's charcoal—a very strange color on her team leader, but not unwelcome.

She tries to keep her touches mechanical and unbothered; it's futile. She dips a washrag and cleans his face. Swiping over skin gently and down his neck.

"I've changed my mind," Sakura says suddenly, "You _are _a dog."

"Shhh," he hushes her and sinks deeper into the water.

She shakes her head with amusement.

_Idiot._

.

.

.

"Okay," she puts a dry mask on his face, "Naruto is going to help you dress—no, don't give me that look. I am _tired _and not in the mood to dress you."

"You just don't want me to tempt you with my nudity."

She's pretty much tempted since she stripped him down, but she would rather shove pins in her eyes than admit that aloud.

She gives him a deadened look, "I am a _doctor_."

Sakura says it like it makes a difference—she has hormones and it's not her fault that they're screaming.

"I see naked people almost every day," she points out, "You're not that special."

Kakashi looks wounded.

She narrows her eyes, "Even though you blackmailed me so you can use my special bath."

He points to his face, "Ninja."

Sakura scowls—he's so ungrateful and annoying! She just wants to sleep and eat her exhaustion away and her frustration spills over, "I'm getting Naruto."

Kakashi grabs her arm, coal eyes are gentle and he tells her as soon as she looks back at him, "You know I already forgave you, right?"

She stares at him and asks with hesitation, "Really?"

He sighs, "It's not like I can stay mad at you for making sure I didn't die, Sakura."

Sakura's lips twitch.

"But please," Kakashi chuckles, "If you're going to push me out of the way, no swamps."

"No promises," she smiles and opens the door.

.

.

.

Kakashi hates that he can't forget the feeling of her hands on his skin—and he hates and hates until his heart remembers her fingertips like his own.

.

.

.

* * *

**footnote1: **why is kakashi so hard to write, like he's so simple, that it's hard.


End file.
